


I fear no fate

by sparklingice



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Canon Compliant, Christmas, Christmas Fluff, Drabble, Emotionally Repressed Winchesters (Supernatural), Established Relationship, Gentle Kissing, Hurt/Comfort, Light Angst, Love, M/M, POV Sam Winchester, Season/Series 15, Sibling Incest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-25
Updated: 2019-12-25
Packaged: 2021-02-26 01:42:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 827
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21945289
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sparklingice/pseuds/sparklingice
Summary: Sam feels sad and lonely this Christmas Eve. Dean makes sure it gets better.
Relationships: Dean Winchester/Sam Winchester
Comments: 11
Kudos: 38





	I fear no fate

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into Русский available: [Мне судьба не страшна](https://archiveofourown.org/works/22421437) by [M_Vish](https://archiveofourown.org/users/M_Vish/pseuds/M_Vish), [WTF_J2_SPN_2020 (WTF_J2_SPN_2019)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/WTF_J2_SPN_2019/pseuds/WTF_J2_SPN_2020)



> Merry Christmas, everyone. I hope all of you get to spend this time with your loved ones, whether you celebrate the holiday or not. God knows I'm happy I can be home for a little while.
> 
> Title is from E.E. Cummings' poem, _I carry your heart with me._

They never celebrate Christmas properly, except for that one time when Dean's deal made every second they had left together precious and bittersweet. Sam figures it would be more awkward than comforting if they bought an actual Christmas tree and exchanged genuine, meaningful presents, so he doesn't mind that it's not a special day for them at all. He doesn't complain when Dean takes them on a hunt that runs late into Christmas Eve and doesn't feel disappointment when Dean declines his offer for a nightcap. But the sadness is there like a stubborn pet they picked up on the road and couldn't kick out since. He's lonely without ever leaving his love's side - it doesn't get much more depressing than that.

He goes out alone to at least have an excuse for his gloomy mood. Leaving Baby behind, he decides to walk down to the river that splits this small town in half. There's an Italian bakery on the way, about to close down for the holidays, and they sell him the last batch of ricotta cookies for the two wrinkled bucks he pulls out of his jean pocket. Sam tucks his hands into the sleeves of his threadbare coat and sits on an ice-cold bench to watch the waves roll and tumble over each other under the bridge. He pops a green sprinkled cookie in his mouth and enjoys the soft, spongy sweetness that blooms on his tongue. He remembers buying these once, when he was about eight or so and Dean had pneumonia from running extra miles in pouring rain despite Dad's warning. He always wanted to please Dad so bad. Sam used to wonder if it was hunting that made Dean that way or something fundamental in his personality. Would he have become a star baseball player if they lived a normal life, their father's best son?

The reflections of the river bank's Christmas lights shimmer in the water, a fairy dance that picks up in rhythm with the wind. Wouldn't it be great to jump in and forget this messed-up world? Sam watches the turbulent motion and makes up a tune to match it, a mix of all the carols he wishes he knew. There was a time when he did, but the future is too bleak now to remember mundane joys like that. It's hard not to fear that every moment of serenity is Chuck's doing, but he caught a glimpse of the bastard's plan and he knows now that it doesn't contain anything quiet.

_Come back?_

Dean texts him out of the blue, and it's weird. Too specific to be a simple check-up message, and he hasn't been gone long enough yet to raise any alarms. Did Dean find something that could help them win this fight? That would be a true Christmas miracle. With one last longing look to the fresh water pulsing just a few feet ahead, he stands up and hurries back to the motel.

He's awash in suprise when nothing groundbreaking waits for him in the room, just Dean curled up in the bed designated to Sam. A single string of Christmas lights taped above the headboard sheds its weak glow on Dean's tousled hair and the worn-soft band shirt he chose for PJs. There's a glass jar on the nightstand with a simple assortment of lights thrown into it to create a makeshift ambience lamp. It fills Sam with the warm illusion of candlelight, and he's aching from affection and gratitude immediately. He loves candles, and Dean knew it, of course he did.

"You could have told me we were gonna celebrate." He tells Dean as he changes into clean clothes and climbs in next to him, squirming to get under the blanket.

"I didn't want you to make a fuss." Dean replies and presses his soft, damp lips to Sam's mouth, his cheek, the hinge of his jaw. He smells like the herbal soap Sam likes and he claims to hate. Although it's a golden opportunity, Sam doesn't call him out on it. He tangles his fingers in the front of Dean's shirt where he can feel his heartbeat and kisses back gently, wherever he can reach. All over Dean's neck and the dimpled point of his chin until Dean grins and takes his mouth again, sharing his spicy-warm exhale in their kiss. Their noses bump together, but they don't care.

"Do I get a present too?" Sam whispers when Dean's fingers find the small of his back. He settles down to sleep the way he rarely gets to, despite their love, despite everything - enveloped in Dean's arms.

"Don't push it." He hears Dean mutter, but it's an obvious bluff. His breath always hitches before he lies.

"Merry Christmas, you grump." Sam smiles.

A calloused thumb strokes up and down the ridges of his spine in response. "Love you."

It's all the present Sam needed to keep the darkness away for this one night.

**Author's Note:**

> Feedback is welcome and appreciated. :)


End file.
